


A Darkness Surrounds Her

by megnlv



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Delusions, F/F, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-17 14:10:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8147023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megnlv/pseuds/megnlv
Summary: Angela Ziegler’s dreams are plagued by the faces of those she could not save. Fareeha is there for her.





	

**Author's Note:**

> ok kids…this can get pretty gore-y, so if you’re not cool with that, read at your own risk or just don’t read at all tbh.

Angela was woken up by a tremendous bang.

She sat up in bed, hastily, beige sheets bunched beneath her fists. Other than the quiet thrum of central air conditioning and steady breathing, silence greeted her, although Angela’s stomach twisted with uncertainty. For a moment, she was still, keen eyes trained on the bedroom door, as if she was waiting for someone to come through it with an injury that needed attending, or worse. Her eyes slid from the door to Fareeha, sprawled out beside her, blanket bunched around her bare back.

There was a strong smell of copper as she gently moved the covers back and rose from the bed, mindful to not wake Fareeha from her sleep. She threw on a large t-shirt, much too big for her, and her hand curled around the doorknob, pulling the door open to enter the corridor -

Only, she was not at Gibraltar at all.

Instead, she found herself in an apartment. It was familiar with tasteful decor and walls lined with photographs. The air was cold, sent shivers along the ridges of her spine as she stepped further inside. Glass shattered somewhere to her left, and Angela jumped in surprise, her feet moving automatically beneath her and guiding her through the cracked bedroom door.

Gérard Lacroix was sat on a bed of white satin, legs soaking in a pool of his own blood. It dripped off of the mattress and into a puddle on the floor. Thin crimson string attached at his every limb, wrapped around his wrists and ankles and around the base of his neck like a noose.

An obscure creature lurked tall behind him, red orbs where its eyes should be, its body made of nothing but shadow and smoke in the shape of human being. Several clawed hands hovered above Gérard’s limp form, the red string hooked around its nails as white as bone, like a marionette puppet master. It pulled back, one quick movement, and Gérard’s head lolled toward her, mouth gaping open and his eyes as black as pits. Blood and tears stained over his sharp stubbled cheeks, a bullet hole the size of a nickel in his forehead.

Angela stepped back, fear choking her, and the demon laughed. It laughed and laughed, deafening, piercing her eardrums, like nails dragging down a chalkboard - she needed to get away, she needed to _run._

_this is your fault_

The voice is her own, but she is young, no more than a teenager.

Broken glass cut into the soles of her feet, scattered across the floor in front of a shattered window. There was no moonlight, only darkness in its purest form, an abyss of emptiness. Angela stumbled, the world swam around her, dizzying, until she reached another door. She straight-armed through it, chest heaving, her heart feeling as though it were choking her.

Lena was on the ground in an abyss of nothing, keeled over the slim body of a girl in her lap. She was wailing, raw with emotion, and her sobs resounded around her, distorted and unnatural in a way that Angela could not place. The glow of her chronol accelerator swirled in bright shades of blue and sparked haphazardly, and only when Lena leaned back did Angela realize that it was _Hana_ in her arms, body languid and covered with soot and blood, her head angled back over Lena’s arm.

“You can’t protect them.”

Voice like gravel. Gruff, familiar, but cold as ice. Jack Morrison stood behind Lena, a heavy hand on the young woman’s shoulder. His eyes were gone. Where they had once been bright blue, like calmer seas, they were now bottomless pits on his ageless face. The left side of his jaw was melted, smelled of sizzling flesh, and when he spoke the words did not match his mouth.

“No,” Angela whispered, stricken as she glanced from Jack to Hana, to Lena, who was fading in and out of existence -

_your children will die, and you will not be able to save them_

The red eyed demon had returned and Amélie Lacroix was on her knees at its feet. Her chest was hollowed out, sleek with gore, a dark wet pit where her heart was meant to be, large purplish bruises on each of her temples. The demon towered over her, and blackish blood wept onto her pale cheeks from the heart in its clawed hands. It’s head inclined to Angela, face indistinguishable, lips peeled back to reveal its malignant grin before it lifted the heart up to its mouth.

“Amélie?” Angela cried, and her voice was an echo in her ears. Amélie didn’t respond; instead she looked up at the demon, enchanted by it, and licked at the blood that trickled down the length of its shadowy arm and dropped over her lips. She reached up, and the tips of her fingers were blue. Angela swallowed and tried again, desperate, horror and disgust catching in her throat. “Amélie!”

_you could have done something_

The creature and Amélie - no, Widowmaker - fade away in a swirl of black smoke until Angela was alone, trapped in a place that smelled of antibacterial and death, spoken to by a voice that was hers but now _wasn’t_ hers, and instead the bitter growl of a man’s voice, one she knew. One she herself had created.

She felt white polished floor beneath her feet and instantly knew she was at her lab at the Swiss Headquarters. There was a metal operating table in the middle of the room, two dark bare feet sticking out from underneath a thin white cover. One of the overhead lights flickered irregularly, electricity buzzing in the overwhelming silence. Angela stood unsurely in the center of the room, no exit in sight at any angle she looked. Fear had her stomach in knots, an obvious tremble in her hands. There was no shadow of a doubt that the person laying on that table was Gabriel, teetering on the edges of something human and not human.

Angela took a tentative step forward, and then stopped. Her thoughts swam with empty prayers, begging herself to just wake up, to end this seemingly endless delusion so she did not have to see any more, did not have to see the face of her worse failure.

Yet her silent pleas and prayers had gone unanswered. The body on the metal slab shifted, hissing a pained breath through its teeth, and in a blink Angela was beside it, staring down at the man she had unknowingly turned into a monster. Gabriel’s face had never been gentle, nothing about him ever was, but his scarred lips were twisted into a scowl, the side of his cheek stripped of flesh, displaying a row of wicked sharp teeth.

_do you regret saving his life_

Reaper opened blood red eyes then, his clawed hand snatching her throat - and Angela screamed.

“ _Angela!_ ” A voice called, echoed really, and it was familiar and warm - a light in the darkness. The world around her wavered precariously. “- _ngela, wake up!_ ”

She woke with a cry, arm automatically striking away the hands weighing her down in a delirious panic. Claustrophobia clutched at her chest, her blood rushing in her ears with debilitating fear. The hands pulled away instantly, but Angela was aware of a quiet, comforting presence beside her. Her mind was reeling, one thought after another after another, and she forced herself to focus on steadying herself. Angela understood that she was on the verge of hyperventilating and that she needed to get her breathing under control so she did not pass out.

“Fareeha,” she croaked, the fog gradually clearing from her mind. Angela reached blindly out for her girlfriend, seeking physical comfort. Fareeha’s fingers curled around her own not a second later. She felt real and solid against her palm, and Angela turned her head to finally meet her worried gaze.

Mein Gott. When had she last had a nightmare that bad?

Lena was hovering in the open doorway over Fareeha’s shoulder and looking alarmed, clad in a large t-shirt and pajama shorts, spiky hair a mess atop her head. Her eyes were wide, freckled face pale with worry, a pulse pistol at her side. Angela felt a minute rush of relief when she realized that she was here, that she was solid and she was alright, and not trapped in a timeless place where no one could follow. “Is she alright?” Lena asked, question directed to Fareeha. “Gave me a bloody start with that scream. Nearly fell out of bed thinkin’ someone was getting murdered.”

“She is fine.” Fareeha spoke because Angela could not do it herself. “Please, Lena…”

“Right. Sorry loves,” Lena breathed. “I’m a room away if you need me.” She cast one last, concerned glance in Angela’s direction before slipping into the hall, quietly closing the door behind her with a soft _click._

They were alone. Moonlight spilled through the cracks of the window, splitting the room into halves.

“Ya amar,” Fareeha began, empathetic brown eyes surveying Angela’s face. Her hands, one cold metal of her prosthetic and the other warm skin rough from callus, tilt Angela’s face upward so that their eyes met, anchoring her in reality and away from straying thoughts. The pad of her thumb brushed against Angela’s cheek, wiping away a tear beneath her eye. “Say something? You are scaring me.”

Her heart was leaping so heavily and rapid in her chest, but Fareeha’s voice was a comfort all on it’s own. “I just.” She paused, struggling to sift through her thoughts to find the right words in English. “I don’t mean to scare you, liebling. I’m okay,” she said, though aware that her words did not sound very convincing at all.

Fareeha hummed, deep in her throat. “This is your third nightmare this week,” she observed. “You’re not okay.”

Angela sighed and shifted to nuzzle herself in Fareeha’s arms, feeling a bit like a child rather a 37 year old woman. But it was a place where she had felt the most safe, nestled against her girlfriend, as if she was untouchable to the faces of the dead and those too far gone to be helped. Angela could stay there forever and a day if she could. “Maybe it has something to do with your mother being back,” she suggested, voice a murmur against the heat of Fareeha’s skin. “Bringing back memories of my failures that I would rather forget.”

“I suppose I will have to fight her, then,” Fareeha said lightly, arms holding Angela close to her chest, and she could feel the vibrations in her throat as she spoke. Her cheek rested against the side of Angela’s blonde hair. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” Angela whispered, worrying her bottom lip. She feared if she closed her eyes she would see those awful images again. “Can you please just...sit with me here for a little while longer?”

“Always, ya amar,” Fareeha murmured. “You don’t even have to ask.”

**Author's Note:**

> this is a bit of a mess but I hope that you guys liked it! please forgive for any mistakes.
> 
> if you had some trouble figuring out the meaning behind some of the nightmare sequences; the demon creature with Amélie and Gérard is supposed to be a physical embodiment of all of Talon. Widow’s is meant to be seen that Talon had destroyed her, and she’s “enchanted” and her temples are bruised because she was brainwashed by them, and Gérard’s part was intended to be seen as something corrupt - that perhaps he wasn’t as much an innocent victim as he seemed to have been (Widowmaker broke the window to leave after she murdered him).
> 
> If you have your own interpretations to those or to the others, do let me know! I’d love to hear what you thought when you read those scenes.
> 
> please leave a comment below! they really mean a lot!!
> 
> find me @ madame-lacroix on tumblr


End file.
